Musings & Observations / Barry Halpin

To borrow from Dickens, "It was the worst of times and the worst of winters." In fact we haven't had this much snow since Tyrannosaurus Rex last skied down Powder Ridge. It's bordering on a snow apocalypse; everywhere you look there's a snow colossus and snow shoveling has become a Sisyphean task. I personally have been beaten into submission and am ready to throw in the towel, white flag, snow salt, snow shovel, snow-blower, de-icer, ice scraper, gloves, scarf and anything else that personifies winter.

No one seems to be immune from the 2010-2011 Winter Blahs, otherwise known as the Bah Humbug Syndrome. People's ability to tolerate frustration as it applies to snow and non-snow related events is at an all-time low. The look of choice on most faces is a pained grimace; crankiness has become a serious Northeast malaise.

Otherwise sane individuals have begun muttering under their breath for no apparent reason, especially while waiting in line at the supermarket as the next nor'easter furiously heads our way. The imperative to get home before the roads become like the Rockefeller Center Skating Rink often leads to hard feelings when checker or checkee make an error that slows down the line.

There have been so many early dismissals and snow days, that if this weather pattern -- an active storm track with widespread cold air -- continues, all students will be attending summer school. When my daughters were in school, I remember the resounding and joyful cheer that went up from our TV room on so many wintry mornings, as they discovered their school had been closed once again. They quickly became self-proclaimed experts as to whether it would be a delay, closing or early dismissal.

I realize that spring is less than two months away, at least according to the calendar. But I'm having trouble believing it just yet. I've become a weather pessimist, and I know I'm not alone. It's not something I'm proud of, but I just can't shake the feeling that spring is coming in name only.

Right now I'm starting to question why I ever moved here from Los Angeles. When I lived on the West Coast, winter was just a concept that I recalled from my childhood in the Bronx. I would talk to my friends back east, gloating in the knowledge that my weather was better than their weather. When they'd say, "Don't you miss the seasons," I'd tell them, "Seasons? I don't need no stinking seasons!"

Now, I long for those days in Los Angeles. I play The Beatles' "Here Comes The Sun" and "Good Day Sunshine" and The Velvet Underground's "Who Loves The Sun" over and over. It's all too much. I'm becoming winter delusional, with heightened delusions of granular.

If you're thinking to yourself, "Could I be winter delusional, too?" I've put together the following list of symptoms. See if any of them apply to you.

"¢ At the sign of a snow flurry, you rush to the market and stock up for months, buying ridiculous products like canned broccoli florets. While there, the market becomes your personal Indianapolis Motor Speedway; you go careening down the aisles with your shopping cart, taking turns on two wheels, scattering shoppers in your wake.

"¢ You've become very proficient at ice sculpting and recently carved your piece de resistance, a family portrait, on the front lawn.

"¢ You enroll in Willard Scott's "Learn to be a Weatherman in 10 Easy Lessons" online course.

"¢ You wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and start singing, "Snow, snow, go away, come again another day."

"¢ You're convinced that bad weather is another government conspiracy.

"¢ You make harassing calls and send angry e-mails to the local TV station when they get the weather wrong.

"¢ You have a recurring dream that aliens take you to their planet, where they perform non-elective surgery, replacing your skin with fur.

"¢ You keep calling the Psychic Friends Hotline to find out definitively when winter will end.

"¢ You tape the Weather Channel when you're not home.

"¢ You regularly wear your swimsuit while vacuuming.

"¢ You bet on the amount of snowfall with a local bookie.

"¢ Your cabin fever is so bad that you've decided to go to your first-ever high school reunion; you know it's a regrettable decision but you just don't care.

"¢ You explode at little old ladies for having 12 items in the 10-or-less checkout line at the local supermarket.

"¢ You become teary eyed and throw a tantrum when your favorite TV show is interrupted for another Winter Storm Watch Report.

"¢ You test-drive every four-wheel drive vehicle before finally settling on the brand new Hummer Tank, with the optional revolving turret.

"¢ You've put on weight in places that amaze your doctor.

"¢ You investigate selling your mother-in-law for a beach house in Bora Bora.

"¢ You recently spent $10,000 on home tanning equipment and home tanning cream.

"¢ You spend hours on end on Facebook, as well as hire a private investigator, to try and locate your high school sweetheart who you think lives in Tahiti.

"¢ Your "War and Peace" discussion group at the local library has broken down into a War faction and a Peace faction.

"¢ You feel a strong bond with people in Minnesota, Alaska and Buffalo, N.Y.

"¢ You swear you saw the Abominable Snowman trudging through your backyard.

"¢ Your new hobbies are ice fishing and curling.

"¢ You went out and bought a 100-gallon drum of snow and ice melt.

"¢ You wake up numerous times during the night and just stare out the window.

"¢ You're positive the news that Punxsutawney Phil did not see his shadow, thereby predicting an early spring, is a hoax.

If you now believe that you are winter delusional, do not panic or do anything drastic. There is hope on the way, when spring really arrives and makes this horrific winter a distant memory. However, a word of caution: Some of you may find your winter delusions turning into spring fantasies.

Barry Halpin is a prevention specialist for Liberation Programs, a substance abuse health-care agency based in Stamford that provides substance abuse counseling to adolescents and their families in Darien. He's also the director of the county-wide Peer Players, an adolescent theater company. E-mail him at barryhalpin@aol.com.